All Spark Signature
by Missie DuCaine
Summary: Transformers Give me the cube, and I'll let you live as my pet. Now Sam knew what Mojo felt like. Alternate Ending.
1. Chapter 1

_Spoilerific, I just wanted to write a wee little drabbly-sort thing. It's not serious, really, and at a certain point (see the movie and you'll spot the point) it turned into major AU. Written just for fun - of course I don't own the Transformers._

_Now I know how Mojo felt,_ Sam thought, darkly, tugging at the ridiculous looking collar around his neck. 

Of course it was alive, too, all glowy lights and fake jewels and damn it if it didn't look ridiculous, just sitting there around his neck, beeping every once in awhile, scolding him if he tried to sneak away, otherwise just sitting there, heavy and warm, waiting. 

He felt like an idiot. A lot like a chihauha with girl's jewallery on. 

To be honest, he had no idea what had happened to Mojo. Or his parents, though he could probably guess, what with the fact that everyone else was either dead or slaving away somewhere. That was human life, right now, slavery, or death. 

Or, in Sam's case, being a pet. 

He really hadn't meant to give him the cube. He'd been given an order by the soldier guy - he wasn't even sure he'd ever actually caught the guy's name - and he'd tried to get up onto the roof, cube in tow, to get it away from Megatron. He'd tried. He'd done everything he could, but there he'd been, clinging to the statue, and had Megatron taunt, "Give me the cube, and I'll let you live as my pet." 

Oh yeah, that had sounded attractive. 

And then he'd slipped. 

It was the shaking, the way the building was quaking, his fingers slipping in their meager purchase on the statue, the cube itself making it difficult to hold on. He'd been clutching as hard as he could, but he slipped, and toppled off the building. 

His heart had leapt into his throat... and then his breath had left him in a rush as he landed - hard - on something metal. 

For one brief moment, he'd let himself believe it was Optimus Prime, catching him again, like last time, but it wasn't. 

It was fucking Megatron, looking down at him, overly pleased with himself. 

His only thought: _I'm going to get crushed._

And he had been - partially. 

Crushed to the point of agonizing pain and bones that felt like they were going to crack and merciful unconciousness. And then he'd woke up, aching, with fucking robotic bling. 

The air was smoggy, smelling like gas exhaust and various engine fluids, as Sam padded down what was essentially one of his own little maze-like hallways now. Barely anyone else alive could fit in these tiny little halls - he barely fit in them. No way a giant robot was going to fit. Stepping out into what others called the Throne Room (and he called The Hall of Assholes), Sam scratched idly at where the robot rested on his neck, and walked around the side of the room. 

Megatron was yelling at Starscream again. Not that he wasn't usually. Sam couldn't figure out why Starscream was still alive anymore. Megatron clearly wanted him dead. 

Bonecrusher smirked at him when he passed. You wouldn't think a robot could smirk, but he'd been living with them for... what, a year? two? three? now. He'd picked up their expressions, their mannerisms, their moods. He wasn't even sure he'd be able to recognize human emotions anymore, not after living with robots for so long. Technically emotionless faces were all he had to look at anymore. Bonecrusher hated him. He was waiting for the time when Megatron gave him the go-ahead to rip Sam limb from limb. 

Frankly, Sam was waiting for it, too. 

After all, short moment of agonizing pain, and then it'd be over. He wasn't an Autobot. He wouldn't suffer for weeks like Optimus did, being slowly ripped apart but continuing to live so long as his spark was fine. Sam was human. He was weak. A few limbs rent off, and he'd be dead. 

Didn't sound that bad, in the long run. 

He'd tried to kill himself, in the beginning, first after he saw Mikaela and Bumblebee's twisted, broken remains; and again after Megatron held him over Optimus Prime's body as he reached in and ripped out the other's spark. 

Each time, the stupid Deceptacon around his neck had stopped him. And then told Megatron. 

Damn it, the Deceptacons were evil. Why did Megatron care so much that he didn't die?! 

Starscream left the room suddenly, the ground trembling as he stomped away petulently, pissy again. He usually was pissy. Megatron glared after him, clearly debating the advantages of just blasting the underling from behind, then glanced to the side as he always did, as though Sam's meagre body heat alone was enough to alert him to his presence. 

"Ah, boy. Sit." 

Sam sighed, and crossed to the edge of the 'throne' Megatron had fashioned for himself, sitting at the foot of it, on the little ratty blanket he had for a seat. 

"I wanted you to see something. My newest development." 

He pointed towards the huge television screen across the room, smirking himself. 

There were people on the screen. Or, what was left of people - dried husks of what was once people, starving and dirty, aching and in pain, working hard at red hot metal, forging it into huge sheets of metal, huge sheets that as the camera panned out turned out to be plates that formed parts of bodies - giant robotic bodies. 

_They're making new ones. They're not modifying our technology anymore. **They're making their own.**_

Horror crossed Sam's face, growing as the first stood up off the line, blinking red eyes sleepily, like a newborn, as it lifted its hands to peer at them thoughtfully. 

"_No... God..._" he gasped. 

And Megatron laughed, and he realized, all over again, why he was still here, sleek and well-fed, adorned with stupid girly robotic jewallery that looked after him and guarded him. 

What was the fun in being an evil tyrant if you had no one to lord it over? Those people, out there, they knew nothing of Megatron, not really, and they didn't care. Life was work now, work and pain. 

Sam... Sam was still himself. Sort of. But he still felt horror and pain and grief and vague joy, sometimes. 

And Megatron loved to torture him, to see that horror. 

Eventually, he knew, he'd probably lose that. He'd get too jaded. Then either Megatron had to get creative to come up with some new torture, or he'd just let Bonecrusher have him, and he'd be ripped limb from limb and then he wouldn't have this stupid robotic necklace anymore. 

He wasn't sure which would be better - the end of all the torture, or getting rid of the bling. 


	2. Chapter 2

  
**All Spark Signature, Part ii**

* * *

Sam was laying on his back in one of the burnt out, twisted metal remains of what used to be a car, converted into a Deceptacon, then blasted apart. He wasn't even sure who exactly had blasted it, and to be honest - he didn't care. 

The seat was lumpy, little metal springs working their way up through charred fabric to dig into his back, but it was quiet, since this particular car was buried under piles of _other_ mostly demolished once-robots, its arms made from car doors still reaching upwards between an Oldsmobile and a refridgerator, creating the perfect little shaft that he could slip through to get here. He had a blanket, and a small stash of what passed for food in a robot world, and best of all, no one knew it was here. 

This was as close to home as he got, these days. 

Soft blue light from his ever-present robotical companion filled the blackened space, but he didn't need it. 

He wasn't looking. 

"Dear mom," he said aloud, eyes closed, picturing his mother's smiling face. Probably holding Mojo, cooing as she pet his head. Dressing him up all girly. Giving him a complex. "Sorry I yelled at you. And sorry I never actually got the nice girlfriend you always wanted me to have. Kinda... just never could. Sorry." 

"Dear dad. Well. Sorry I didn't fix the lawn... sorry I let robots run across it in the first place. Don't expect there's actually much of a lawn left, anyway. Oh, and sorry I got mom and you arrested. Really didn't mean to do that." 

Shifting a little, he frowned. "Dear Mojo... sorry mom dressed you up like that, and sorry I dropped the textbook on your foot." 

"Dear Mikaela - I am not going to apologize to you." He smiled slightly. "I shouldn't have tried to convince you to come along and get in the car, I guess, but I _did_ sorta save your life with that, and in the end, I don't think you really _had_ to come along. So I'm sorry after all, I guess, that I got you in the mess, but you decided to fight, and I admire that about you. Actually, there was _a lot_ I admired about you, and I'm really sorry you're gone, but..." he shrugged. "Just think, if I hadn't have been there at that lame party with my lame-o friends..." 

"Lame-o friends..." he trailed off, then blinked. "Dear Jude. Wow, um... sorry? Guess I kinda forgot to call you after all that... crap... happened. Did you know my car was alive?" He faltered. "And dear Bumblebee... I wish you'd picked someone else to protect. Someone who could actually _help_. And dear Optimus..." 

Sam sat up again, tugging at his necklace. It beeped furiously at him, but he just tugged harder. "I know you can hear me, you friggin little waste of scrap metal. Turn off, will you, so I can actually hear myself think here?" 

It beeped angrily, but the blue glow actually faded to a single point in the centre of its 'eye', and it fell silent, without even the perpetual 'hum' it had, like a running refridgerator. 

Closing his eyes again, Sam took a deep breath. "Optimus. I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to help you. I should've been able to keep the cube away from him - it's what you wanted. Or even... even just been able to give you the death you _chose_, instead of the one Megatron inflicted. I wish..." He steeled his jaw. "I wish you'd just never _come_ to Earth. I wish I'd just died. Let them have the cube." 

Sam shook his head. "I'm done. You hear that, Megatron? Done. Go on. Do your worst. Everyone I ever cared about is dead and gone, and I'm all that's left. Can't possibly make things any worse than they are. I'm done. That's it. I'm finished." 

A year ago, he might have been crying. Two years ago, he would have been sternly telling himself that he was tough, he was a man, and men did not cry. Three years ago, he would have been laughing at his own sappiness. 

Now, he lay there in the dark, eyes focused on nothing, his only movement the steady rising and falling of his chest, and otherwise, dead to the world. 

The machine around his neck beeped. 

On the massive shoulder of Megatron, a small blue light lit up, and beeped. 

Once, twice, then more rapidly, sounding much like the morse code that the Secretary of Defense had attempted to use to save the earth. 

The fact that Megatron had had made a rather macabre set of wind chimes using the skulls of the President and his Chiefs of Staff was a grim testament to how well _that_ plan had worked. 

Megatron grinned, or would have if his face had been possible of creating that expression, and turned to look at the two Deceptacons working on repairing a third in the corner. 

"Leave him," he snapped. "I want you to start working on _it_." 

Return to Misellany. 

Transformers belongs to some very rich people that are not me, and I didn't ask to use them. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Transformers is not mine. Believe. I'd be richer if it was.**

If it weren't for the fact that it was weird, Sam wouldn't have cared at all. Frankly, he _liked_ the idea of Megatron leaving him the hell alone. 

It was just... he _was_, but he _wasn't_. 

Sam was used to being _ignored_ by the Deceptacons. He'd been living with them for years, and he was the only organic lifeform most of them saw most of the time. After being a novelty for a few months, Sam had been relegated, for the most part, to the role of 'ignored oddity'. He enjoyed that role, in all honesty, just off to the side, ignored and pretty much left alone. Megatron never really ignored him, but he figured that was because he was the robot's _pet_, which meant at least a little attention had to be paid to him. 

But this... this was weird. The Deceptacons were ignoring him - but it was active ignorance. It was like every time they came into the room, they had to consciously remind themselves to ignore him. He was being ignored so intently he felt like they were watching him constantly. Beady, glowing mechanical eyes on him constantly. 

It was... _disturbing._

Even Megatron was ignoring him, which made him feel even weirder. 

Sam even tried to get a reaction a few times. He tried to rip off the bling, but it dug little sharp fingers into his skin, and held on until he had to stop pulling, or rip out chunks of his own flesh. Bleeding and sore, he headed back to the Hall of Assholes, assuming he'd find an angry Megatron, but instead, the giant machine barely glanced at him before returning to the assignment he was giving Bonecrusher. 

Another time, he tried burrowing down in his little hole in the old car, determined to stay there until someone came looking for him. He stayed there until he ran out of food, drank all his water, and became weak and tired. He only emerged when he was so dizzy he could barely stand, and crawled achingly slow out of the car, staggered down his hallways, and collapsed on the ratty blanket he called his own. No one had come looking for him. No one had reacted to his absence. Even the stupid bling around his throat hadn't reacted. Someone brought him food, now that he was out, but that was the most attention he got. 

_Why?_ He wondered to himself. _What is going on that they're not paying attention?_

It never occurred to Sam that the question was a little self-centrered; his life had dissolved into his own little world and how the Deceptacon's influenced it. Now they _weren't_ affecting it. 

After a while, though, it became... normal. 

He stopped paying attention to it. There was him, there was food, and there was bling. Life became a complete monotony: wake up, eat, watch the Deceptacons, eat, watch the Deceptacons, eat, go to sleep. He felt like more of a robot than the actual robots. They at least had emotions. Sam felt like he'd lost the reaction to feel, somewhere. 

So when Megatron called his name, he didn't know how to react, at first. 

"Sam." 

He blinked, slowly, lifting his head. 

"Sam." 

Confused, he looked up, blinking when he realized that the massive robot was looking down at him, amused. 

"Yes?" he croaked, surprised at the harshness of his voice. He'd forgotten to use it. 

Megatron's hand swooped down to his level, palm flat, fingers at the ground by his feet. "Come." 

Crawling onto the other's hand, he held on reflexively when the huge Deceptacon swooped his hand up into the air, carrying Sam as he started walking along. 

_Where are we going?_

A factory. It was the Deceptacon factory that Megatron had shown him, months ago. Deceptacons looked up as they entered, red eyes following their path as Megatron walked calmly through the sparks and the construction, smiling as the humans cowering between the robots looked away, refusing to meet the monstrous robots eyes. 

Passing through the main body of the room, Megatron entered a large, mostly empty back room. It was cavernous, high roofed and still, silent except for the whirring of Megatron's joints. 

"Sam." he said. 

"What?" Sam croaked, wincing again. 

Megatron reached over his head, to a shelf, pulling down a small, familiar cube. "Recognize this?" 

Sam hissed at the All Spark, brows furrowed. He felt like a cat, back arching up, wanting to claw at the thing. It was a deep, instinctual response, to the object that had destroyed his life, and the life of everyone. _Everyone._

Megatron laughed, and the thing sparked, arching from the cube to the robotic body on lying in front of them, a body he hadn't even noticed was there. 

Blue eyes flared open, spark crackling in the chest. 

"Oh my God," Sam moaned, horror flooding through him. 

Megatron laughed, and lowered him down so that he was just above the robot's eyes. Sam reached out, just touching the glass. 

"Sam?" the robot said, sounding bewildered. 

Sam's shoulders shook as he bit back a sob. "Optimus?" 


	4. Chapter 4

For the first time in... _ever_, Sam loved Megatron. Adored him.

And all because he'd left, leaving the small, ragged human with the giant robot he'd thought he'd never see again.

"I thought he _killed_ you," Sam was saying, voice almost awed, as he kept reaching out to touch the side of Optimus Prime's face, as though afraid if he didn't, the other would disappear. He felt kind of ripped apart inside, like a scar that had long healed over had been ripped back open, but when the new skin was ripped out, it took more of the old skin with it than the original wound had.

"I thought so too." Optimus was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, and the confusion and hurt were evident in his voice. "I assume he must have saved my memory."

"He can do that?"

"We are much like your computers, in some senses. Our memories can be saved. He must have kept my spark. Rebuilt my body." There was a slight whirring as Optimus turned his head so that he could face Sam properly, though it was nearly impossible to tell whether or not he was, what with the fact that his eyes were essentially headlights. "He appears to have done so wrong. I cannot move the rest of my body."

Sam winced, reaching up again to touch the glass of Optimus' eye. It was hot, the skin on his fingertips searing as he touched the surface of the hot light. "I don't think he wants you to escape."

"I would be difficult." Optimus agreed. "I cannot transform, either. Are you in good condition?"

Sam shrugged. He had no idea, honestly. He was alive. Beyond that... he looked a wreck, for sure, what with long curly hair and sparse, occasional facial hair that still hadn't grown well or completely. Clothes were pretty much non-existent, other than rags of what was left from before. And bling, of course, fucking robotic bling.

He hadn't seen a mirror in years. There were some, on the cars he made his nest in, but he sure as hell didn't want to know what he looked like in them.

"Good enough. Are you all right?"

"Affirmative. Though unable to move, as mentioned before." Optimus looked around the room they were in, servos whirring and hydraulics hissing with released air and compressing water as he did. "I do not understand why Megatron would bring me back."

"Naw, me neither," Sam admitted, carefully clambering up onto the giant robot's chest, sitting on what would have been his collarbone, were he human, and looked at the other thoughtfully. "I don't get it. He's taken over the world, right? What's that got to do with bringing the guy who almost _stopped_ him last time back to life?"

"He kept you around." Optimus pointed out.

Sam shrugged. "Sort of. Not really, though... I mean, they kinda... ignore me."

"Hum. Isn't that good?"

"Sure, but bling?" He tugged at the necklace, which beeped in anger, and dug its claws in. "This is annoying."

"Of course. But you live. You cannot be revived as I can, with the Spark. You are made of flesh, not metal."

"I know, I know, I'm a meat puppet." Sam snorted, smiling for the first time in longer than he could remember. It actually _hurt_ to smile – he could _feel_ his muscles crinkling up at the action. It had been so long since he had actually smiled like this, it felt like his skin was cracking as he did. "Not supposed to be broken, or I won't fix. Still. I'm glad you're all right."

"As am I." Optimus said sternly. "What of the others?"

Sam shook his head, curling in a loose, foetal ball on Optimus Prime's chest, closing his eyes as he relaxed on the warm, slightly vibrating metal. It was a comforting feeling, being warm and safe. Even if Optimus couldn't move to protect him, lying there still felt... _safe_.

"Sam?"

"They're gone." Sam answered with a calm that would have scared him, years ago. He wasn't even sure he noticed the dead flatness with which he responded now.

"He destroyed them?"

"Yeah." Sam squirmed a little on the metal, slowly relaxing. "I'm tired."

"Sleep then. I shall watch."

Sam nodded, wearily, and for the first time in a long time, fell into a deep and, most importantly, _dreamless_ sleep.


End file.
